Into The Shadows Of What Once Was
by gotluka'scookies
Summary: Kem's on her way out, Carby's in rehab. And yep, I changed the title.
1. Abby reflects

SPOILERS: up to 10.18 – mostly spoiled speculation  
  
DISCLAIMER: well, they're not mine, yet. I'm currently stuck in adoption bureaucracy. But one day...  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: yeah, so I'm writing (or trying to) two fics at the same time, it's very confusing, a bit too much for my poor little brain to handle, but I'm doing my best!  
  
SUMMARY: Abby tries to move on...  
  
Abby looked on as they looked at one another, gazed, in fact, into each other's eyes. They had almost everyone convinced. Except, just occasionally...it was probably nothing. She did her best to dismiss her doubts. But sometimes she thought she saw a vague echo of fleeting uncertainty cross his face.  
  
But then Kem would reach up to him, and he would smile down at her, and the expression Abby had thought she'd seen would be gone, so that she did her best to disregard it as a figment of her imagination.  
  
It was not that he looked unhappy; he looked quite the opposite in fact. Ecstatic, lit up by a childish anticipation. But he reminded her of Eric, as he had been last year, and she remembered trying to explain to Carter that there was such a thing as being 'too happy', and he had laughed, doing his best to assuage her doubts. And she knew now as she'd known then that it couldn't last, this happiness.  
  
She saw Carter's impatience for the baby's arrival which was passed off by Kem as appropriate, or perhaps it went unnoticed. She remembered him coming to check the delivery suites weeks early, and remembered how she had thought at the time that he was perhaps relying too much on the birth of his child, but had discarded this thought with the others.  
  
Obviously, he was very much in love with Kem. Why else would he bring back a woman whom he barely knew from Africa to bring up his child? Because he's Carter, the insistent voices at the back of her mind had answered her, a man of his honour, because she's pregnant, and he's a gentleman.  
  
Africa had changed him, she thought. Yes, there were the outward signs; he'd got a beard now, and lost some weight. But there was more to it than that.  
  
Something else, something elusive, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. She caught herself thinking that perhaps the beard signified some craving for a maturity he didn't feel he had, that it was something for him to hide behind, and laughed at the overly analytical wanderings of her mind.  
  
She remembered that fateful evening last year when Carter had asked her whether she thought that people ever really changed, and wondered whether her answer would be the same now as it had been then.  
  
This was what she had wanted, wasn't it? For him to be with a beautiful, emotionally stable woman, who did charity work, someone he deserved, someone he could start a family with, who Gamma might eventually have approved of. Someone without a crazy family, alcohol problems, something that he had called an inferiority complex, but that wasn't actually a complex, it was genuine inferiority.  
  
Maybe she should go with Susan's theory, that he'd brought Kem back partly because of the baby, but partly just to make her jealous. Or perhaps he was just trying to move on, suddenly aware of his departing youth. He was ready to settle down, ready for a relationship which 'stuck'. She knew that.  
  
Whatever it was, she knew that the carter she had dated for over a year was not a Carter who would have settled for the quick fix he'd continually warned her against. Was that what Kem was?  
  
But she looked over again and saw them absorbed in one another, smiling, happy. And who was she to question this happiness, to judge it? She wasn't exactly the most impartial of judges. But that was normal. She told herself now what she had once told Carter, that she had dated the guy for a year; there was bound to be some history. That was all, wasn't it? But she didn't remember it hurting this much.  
  
He caught her eye, and looked away hurriedly as she managed a wan smile. Susan was right; she needed to move on. She looked at her watch. Her date was due to arrive in two hours.  
  
*****  
  
To be continued...  
  
Please review! Constructive criticism much appreciated. 


	2. Abby's first rebound guy

AN: I'm pretty behind, so please bear with me while I get up to date. Starts with the episode when Carter pays Abby's med-school fees, and she goes off with random biker dude. (Abby normal?)  
  
DISCLAIMER: Turns out adoption processes are pretty slow these days. Vague plans in the works for an abduction, but obviously I can't disclose them. So they're still not mine, yet.

#####

Abby wondered what he was feeling, as he watched her ride away on the back of Jake's bike. Nothing? Anything? Jealousy? Amusement? Surprise? All of these things? None of these things? She was surprised to find she was still thinking about it when they reached his apartment.  
  
This was going to be a tricky one. On all of her previous dates she'd been driving, providing her with an obvious excuse for not drinking; this time she was going to have to explain.  
  
But as he held out the glass of wine to her, she just said, 'I don't drink,' apologetically, and he smiled and said, 'You mind if I do?' And Abby shook her head silently, and thought about how Carter would never have drunk in front of her. But she caught herself and returned her thoughts to the present. Jake wasn't Carter, but he was fairly good as rebound guys went, she thought. It was nothing serious. They'd met at med. school, and he was quite a lot younger than her (ok, over ten years) and still at the age where nothing really mattered; he could afford to take time to make mistakes and start over. He made her laugh, the sex was good, and she thought he was rather proud to have an older woman on his arm. The arrangement suited both of them.  
  
Abby sniffed. A strong smell of burning reached her nostrils, and seconds later the smoke alarm went off. 'Shit. I better check on the food. Make yourself comfortable.' Abby caught the tail end of a stream of expletives as she settled herself into the couch. 'Mom promised I couldn't go wrong with this recipe.' Abby laughed. Jake didn't. 'Don't worry about it. We can just get take out or something. I wasn't that hungry anyway.' 'You're sure you don't mind?' 'Seriously, it's fine.' He sighed, sitting down next to her. 'I had it all planned out. It was going to be perfect.' 'It's ok. I'm sure we can just skip dinner,' she said leaning in to kiss him. She could taste the alcohol on his lips, and pulled away momentarily. 'Something wrong?' he asked. 'No, nothing's wrong. Nothing at all,' and she hurriedly returned her mouth to his, lest she should wound his already dented pride. She knew she shouldn't be testing herself like this. That was the first time she'd tasted alcohol since...well, since her brother had disappeared, and Carter had been away in Belize, but had come home for her. But she was stronger now, she thought. Still, she was glad she'd told Jake she didn't drink, because she thought it quite likely that if she hadn't she may well have found herself asking for a glass of wine.

#####

Abby lay, staring at the ceiling in Jake's cramped bed. They were definitely going back to her place next time. Mind you, that was what she had said last time, and the time before that. She idly picked paint off the wall she was jammed against. On her other side was jake's back, which still retained some of his teenage spots. What the hell was she putting herself through this for? Sure, it was fun sometimes, but right now she longed for the comfort of her own home, and wished she'd brought her car. Of course, there was the El, but that was a bit hard on Jake, wasn't it? But she'd already climbed over him and almost reached the door. She looked guiltily over her shoulder at his gently snoring body, quickly scribbling on a piece of paper 'sorry, had to take a shift, Abby xxx'  
  
She glanced at the open wine bottle on her way out. Even wavered in her passage to the door, but she made it and closed the door, relieved and irrationally proud of herself.  
  
She was still felt slightly guilty about Jake on the train, but her guilt was quickly dissipated as she crawled under her own duvet, and she knew that she would never be able to bring Jake back here. This was her haven. And besides, it held too many memories. No matter how hard she tried to pretend to herself, she knew she wasn't ready to replace Carter yet.  
  
She would call Jake in the morning and tell him she didn't think they were going to work out.

#####

please review!...I know nothing's really happened yet, but I'm sure it will...one day!


	3. A Time To Mourn

A Time to Mourn  
  
DISCLAIMER: not mine etc etc

SUMMARY: Carter, well, umm, mourns, surprisingly enough

RATING: PG – nothing colourful, hopefully sad doom and gloom if I've got it right, which is unlikely.

AN: Ok, I'm bored, so I'm skipping straight to the end of the spoilers for 11.2, and thanks to carbyluvforeva and Happy Abby and for reviewing chapter 2

Abby hated seeing him like this. Hated the way Luka manhandled him out of there. He would've gone of his own accord, wouldn't he? She wasn't sure of anything anymore. She looked down at his cell phone in her hand, and suddenly understood how Carter had felt last year, when she'd been the one falling off the wagon.  
  
The foreboding, the pain, but above all the helplessness. Carter had always been there for her, but now things were complicated between them, and even if she did try to help she wasn't sure he would want her to. Sure, she could stand on the sidelines and gently suggest that he attended a meeting or met with his sponsor, but above all she knew from her own experience that this was something that he needed to sort out on his own. It was not until she had lost the safety net that Carter had provided that she'd really sorted herself out.  
  
Abby realised that of all the ER staff, her life was probably the least screwed up at the moment. It came as a bit of a shock. There was Neela, who no longer had a job, and who she'd just packed off to the station with that poor kid, Kerry, who'd just lost her child, Susan, who was still stuck on bed rest, Luka, who was having problems with Sam, Chen and Pratt who were both in ICU, Carter, obviously, and her, who'd just graduated, her mother was fine, and the cute doctor from upstairs had just asked her out. She wasn't sure what her answer was going to be yet, had told him she'd think about it. ##### "You gonna be ok from here?" Luka asked, turning to Carter as he stopped his car. Carter nodded dumbly, and got out of the car. "Luka? Thanks. For everything. And I'm sorry." 

"No problem. And if you need, you know, to talk or anything..." Carter smiled weakly, closed the door and walked up the steps to his apartment, fumbling for the keys in his bag.  
  
He walked across the hall and quietly opened the door opposite, walked through, and closed it behind him. He sank back into the couch, staring at the patches of paint in front of him. There was the one he'd liked, the one Kem had said had too much grey in it. Not that it mattered anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. His son was dead. George. That was the name on the birth certificate, and the name on the death certificate. The nurse had asked, and by that time Kem had been beyond caring. She'd never referred to him as anything but 'the baby'. Had rarely referred to him at all, in fact. Not since it happened.  
  
He watched as the squares of paint on the wall slowly blurred at the edges, merging as the tears streamed down his face. He was drunk; he knew that. But It didn't change anything. George was still dead; Kem was still gone.  
  
He lay down, burying his head in the dusty cushion next to him, surrendering to the hiccoughing sobs that racked his body. Never again would he see his son's small face, never again could he touch his tiny hands. A photograph and lock of hair were poor substitutes. He would never be able to rock him to sleep, to teach him to talk, to walk, to read, to play with him in the yard. George would never be able to do all the things he'd done growing up, never even get the chance to make all the mistakes he'd made.  
  
He turned over the last few days in his mind, recalled how Kem had withdrawn further and further into herself until he no longer had the ability t reach her, before finally slipping away. And he'd tried to make her stay. Asking her to marry him, telling her he loved her, begging and pleading, not sure that he'd meant any of it, but desperate that he had someone to share his grief with, something to show that it had all been real, desperate not to forget.  
  
He remembered their last conversation. The tears had glistened in his eyes as the Chicago wind had whipped about them. Gently, she had disentangled her hand from his, sadly brushing the back of her hand across her face. "No, John," she'd said. "You think you love me, but you don't. You're stronger than you think you are. You'll get through this on your own." If only she could see the wreck of a man she'd left behind. "Me– I can't bear all of the reminders of– of what happened. I don't belong here. I never belonged here." That was the most she'd said concerning her feelings since leaving the hospital. Until then their interaction had focussed entirely on the mundane, coffee, shopping and the like. He had been alone with his tears and pathetic histrionics, she impenetrable in her silent grief.  
  
And the worst of it was that he'd known she'd go long before, known he was powerless to do anything about it, his impotence wrought in his every despairing action. It was all happening again, what his parents had gone through after Bobby's death.  
  
He'd tried at first. Tried talking about the baby, anything to provoke a reaction. But gradually they'd lapsed into silence. At first she'd hardly left her bed. Then, she liked to go for long walks, and Carter had known that she was trying to come to a decision, convinced that something had to change. And so she'd left, trying to forget.  
  
A psychologist would tell him that his was the healthier grief, he knew. That it was better to let it all out. But that was scant comfort now. Surely she couldn't just go back to her old life pretending nothing had ever happened, could she? Someday she'd have to face it. Or was that just a load of psychobabble, a myth that he'd picked up through his medical training? He didn't know anymore.  
  
He awoke with a crick in his neck, his old back injury flaring up again, and his eyes were raw and puffy from crying. Kem's approach no longer seemed heartless or dangerous. It seemed like the only way he could live a normal life.

#####

what do you think? Please review!


	4. A road to nowhere

AN: Thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far, especially Kara for coming up with such a beautifully apt title. All feedback is much appreciated, and if you've read and haven't reviewed yet I'll leave you to your conscience!  
  
DISCLAIMER: My plans for abduction were unfortunately foiled by the FBI, so I'm now in lots of trouble and under constant surveillance, which means that I have to be careful for a while. One day, they'll be mine.  
  
SUMMARY: a slightly random chapter. Carter continues to struggle with his tortured soul...

Carter was dreaming. Streams of seemingly disconnected images washed through his mind.

He walked through a barren wasteland, the bare grey earth dry beneath his feet, stinging the backs of his legs as the wind blew, blowing shreds of white cloud scudding across a gaudy blue sky.

He was in a scrapyard, a dump where the remnants of lives lay in disarray, old sofas, refrigerators, junk. He wondered about the scenes they must have witnessed. A child's car seat caught his attention, and nearby an old-fashioned perambulator. In the distance the door of a solitary portaloo flapped to and fro in the wind.

The piles of rubbish suddenly dissolved, and he was walking through a Congolese forest, the trees towering above him, sealing him in. And then he was walking along a busy Chicago street, and the street was suddenly filled with screaming babies and young children. He stood as the sea of faces rushed past, their wretched cries deafening. He saw George and called his name, but he just looked back at him blankly, showing no signs of recognition, and floated on past. Now there were parents among them, taking them away. The flow thinned out and slowed as more and more of them were taken by the hand or pulled into their parents' loveless arms. He would love them. He could do better than the disinterested forms that carried them off, faceless heads already turned towards where the road faded to nothingness.

Now he and George were the only ones left, and he could see a man coming to take George away. George's father, not him. Perhaps it wasn't George at all; perhaps he wouldn't recognise George if he saw him. George watched Carter as his father carried him away, and Carter tried to stop them but found that he couldn't move. He could hear George whimpering, and made one last effort, but the image was fast fading and he was left looking at the wet marks his own tears had made on the pillow in front of him, his body shrouded in clammy sweat, and found to his surprise that the whimpers came from his own mouth.

He went to the sink and splashed water on his face. Walked to the shower and let the water wash over him, attempting to purge himself of his memories. He lifted his face to the water, turning up the pressure, it washing away his tears faster than he could produce them. Slowly he sank to the floor where he sat in a shaking heap for a while. He had promised himself he wouldn't think about any of it, would shut it away, and yet here he was again, crying like a baby. He slammed his hand against the wall, and curiously watched the beads of scarlet blood as they trickled down the white tiles to mingle with the shower water until they were all but traceless, the rusty rivulets falteringly joining the floods and running down the drain with nothing more than a watery red hue. His lifeblood flowing away. God, he needed to stop being so melodramatic.

He sighed, turned off the water and, grabbing a towel, went to the kitchen for a glass.


	5. On the roof

AN: sorry about the lack of updates and general screwed-up-ness of fics. I edited most of the last chapter out because I had no clue where I was going with it. So this is basically an attempted repair at the damage I've done. I'm sure this chapter was going to be better before I lost my notes and had to rewrite it!

DISCLAIMER: The restraining order is proving to be a bit of a problem, but one day I'll own them, even if it is illegally.

SUMMARY: Carter's not a happy bunny (again), and apparently this time there's only one person who can save him. (I'll give you a clue – it's not Superman. And I said one person, so obviously it's not the Thunderbirds either.)

Abby looked at her watch. Only ten minutes to go. Internship was even worse than it was reputed to be, and she longed to get back to her apartment for a cup of coffee which wasn't the tepid, gritty crap which the machine in the ER produced. The next time her hands got a break from rubbing her eyes, the sight of Susan standing in admit. complete with her two-week-old daughter was a welcome one.

"Susan! She's grown so much. How are you?"

"Surviving," Susan said, grimly.

"She looks so peaceful."

"Yeah, well, you wait 'til she wakes up."

"She's keeping you up?"

"Understatement. But according to Elizabeth she could be worse. You couldn't hold her for a second, could you?"

"Sure. You come up with a name yet?"

"No. Everything I like, Chuck disagrees with. He wants to call her Prudence."

"He's joking, right?"

"I hope so. I was thinking about Abigail, but I thought–," she glanced up at Abby, grinning, "no, that's what I thought."

Abby looked up and saw Carter leaving trauma 1, ripping his gloves off, always a bad sign, before chucking them in the vague direction of the bin. For a second he met her gaze, then it fell to the child she held in her arms. She thought it was going to be too much, that he was going to turn and leave. He almost did. But instead he came over, allowing the child to grip his finger.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" She was already bigger than George had ever been.

Abby nodded slightly, looking up at him anxiously. His face was pale and drawn, and the wan smile a useless disguise for his inner turmoil and stinging eyes.

Hurriedly, he extricated his finger and briskly walked over to the elevators, hitting the button a few times before giving up and making for the stairs. Abby watched as he broke into a barely controlled run, almost colliding with a patient as he disappeared around the corner.

She looked impatiently to where she had expected Susan to be obliviously continuing to rummage through her bags, and found that Susan, like her, was looking guiltily after Carter.

"Shit. Is he ok?"

"I don't know."

"I completely forgot. I should've known ER visits with the baby were a bad idea. You want me to cover for you? I could leave her with Jerry or something."

"Jerry? My shift finishes in two minutes anyway, so don't worry about it. If Weaver asks, you can tell her I have a family emergency or something."

She stopped at the canteen on the way up, and picked up a couple of cups of coffee. She shoved open the door with her shoulder, and saw Carter sitting with a cigarette, facing the rooftops, unseeing. He didn't turn as she handed him his coffee; it was as if he had been expecting her. Or as if he didn't care.

She pulled up a chair, and sat to his left, facing him, trying to give him some space. They've sat like this before, she remembers. The night he told her he wanted her to stop being so afraid. The night he told her he wanted to marry her. Only this time they're the other way around.

Maybe he remembers this too. Or maybe he's thinking of his son. In any case they're quiet for a long while.

"Kem left me," he said, suddenly, starkly.

"I'm sorry, Carter," she says, because she is. She's sorry that Kem's left him like this, not because she minds picking up the pieces, but because there are pieces to be picked up, pieces that she hopes can be picked up.

"Don't be. It's not your fault." That's not what she meant, and he knows it. He's smiling at her now. It's not a nice smile. Ironic, at best, otherwise bitter. He bats impatiently at the tear dribbling its way down his cheek, taking a drag at the cigarette in his hand. "To think I had myself all prepared to sink into a comfortable state of apathy."

"Apathy's never comfortable."

"Kem seemed to find it ok. I mean, everyone's always saying that you have to grieve properly, but maybe that's not true. Maybe that's just a myth to delude people into thinking that crying for a few days will give them closure."

"Maybe most people would rather live in that deluded state than living in limbo, until something shocks them out of it, reminds them of what they're missing. Or until the thought that everyone else thinks that it's impossible for them to live without grieving properly finally gets to them, and they grieve anyway."

Maybe. He feels the cigarette that he's forgotten he's holding beginning to scorch his fingers, and doesn't let go.

"Abby? With the drink, the other day, I didn't mean to, it just seemed easier, and–," and he broke off, ashamed that he had left work for the bar when it had become too much for him, ashamed that he had come back and made a scene. Ashamed that she'd borne witness to it.

The tears that had been scalding his eyes now rolled down his cheeks one after another, relentless, and suddenly she was at his side, kneeling on the cold, hard concrete, her arms stretched around him, and the cigarette butt had fallen from his hand.

"I know. I know," she said, because it was all she could say, said because it was the truth. And he moved aside to accommodate her, so that she was now sitting on his chair beside him, and she rocked him as his grief threatened to engulf his weary being, rocked him until his shuddering body stilled, drained.

When she was beginning to wonder if he was asleep, he whispered, "Abby, thank you." He paused, before adding, "and sorry. About your jacket, I mean."

"Well, as long as you pick up the dry-cleaning bill..." He managed a smile, although he knew she couldn't see it.

She stood, saying, "come on, I'll give you a ride home." She picked up the two coffee cups, one empty, one cold, in one hand and, in the other, took his and led him to the door as she might a child. "My car's on level one in the car park. If you want, you can wait there and I'll get your stuff for you," she said, guessing that he wouldn't want to return to the ER looking like the exhausted wreck that he was. He smiled gratefully as she handed him her keys.

She found him sitting in her car, listening to one of her tapes.

"I thought you didn't like my music?"

"I didn't." He smiled, "anyway, you've still got some of my tapes in here. I thought you didn't like them?"

"I don't," she smiled back at him. "So where are we going, The Carter Mansion or your apartment?"

He realised that once her referring to his Gamma's house as 'The Carter Mansion' might have offended him. It didn't seem to any more. Well, not coming from Abby anyway.

"The mansion," he replied easily.

AN: Please, please, please review! (if I sound desperate, it's because I am)


	6. The Mansion

AN: I usually find chapters quite hard to write, but this time I just started rambling and found that I couldn't stop, so I apologise if it's mind-numbingly boring. I was pleasantly surprised by the positive responses I got last time – they really helped, so thank you! If you find something you don't like, please say so – I'm trying to improve.

About this chapter: no idea why I think the housekeeper's name is Emily, so sorry if it's wrong!

DISCLAIMER: well, if it weren't for all of the bureaucracy involved in adoption and restraining orders, I would own them. But we live in hard times, and with these things called laws I'm finding things a little difficult at the moment. Hard times indeed.

SUMMARY: Carter's been skiving, tut tut. Wonder what Abby has to say about that?

....................

They were down one attending. Carter had called in sick for the second day running.

She hadn't seen him since the day after his breakdown on the roof. He'd said he'd slept better, even looked a little better, but by the end of the shift they'd lost three patients, and he looked much as he had done on previous days. Abby had been worried, but Carter had pushed her concerns aside, refusing coffee, saying that he was tired and would rather just go home. She hadn't been convinced by his reassurances.

"Kerry, did he say what was wrong?"

"Jerry took the call. I didn't follow it up. I'm trying to cut him some slack; he's been through a lot. In any case, he's got grounds for compassionate leave."

But Kerry didn't know that Kem was gone and Carter was alone.

"How did he sound?"

"He sounded like Carter." She gave him a look. "Look Abby, I'm sorry but we were really busy when he rang. You'd have to call him yourself."

She had. Twice. And four times yesterday. She'd left two answer phone messages on his cell, and one at his apartment.

....................

She somehow managed to complete her twelve-hour shift. She'd had to cope with the obnoxious attending who'd been called in to cover for Carter.

She succeeded in opening her eyes and bringing her head up to a vertical position so that she was no longer looking at the cracks and some kind of mould which appeared to be growing directly above her on the lounge ceiling.

She dragged herself to her feet and somehow made it to the phone on the table. She dialled the number for Carter's grandmother's house. She got his housekeeper.

She seemed relieved that she'd called. He was home, she said, but had barely left his room for two days. He'd asked not to be disturbed, but Emily had been on the verge of calling his father when Abby had called.

....................

Emily left her at his door. She knocked.

"John? John, it's Abby, can I come in?...I'm coming in."

She walked through the door, her eyes wandering over the array of bottles before her. She almost tripped on the empty beer bottle which lay at her feet, but caught herself impatiently.

The door closed behind her and she was left in the darkened room. She hit the light switch, and was met with protests from Carter. She ignored them, walking over to where he lay on the couch.

She crouched next to him and watched as he tried to focus his eyes on her face.

"Might've known it'd be you."

He was still wearing the clothes she had last seen him in, now stained with alcohol and a partly digested Chinese takeaway.

Silently she stood and walked to his bathroom, picking up a glass, tipping his toothbrush from it into the marble sink, and filling it with water from his gold taps.

"You need to drink." She held the glass out to him.

He grunted at her and pushed the glass away, soaking the sleeve of her jacket.

"Carter!" she rebuked him gently, exasperated but compassionate. He closed his eyes.

She put the glass on the table next to an almost empty port decanter, and took off her jacket, looking around for somewhere to put it down which wouldn't mean that she had to take it to the drycleaner's tomorrow. She left it on the far end of the couch.

"Carter, you're going to have to sit up."

He slowly raised his arm and tried to flap his hand at her, signalling her to leave. She watched as it swung a couple of times from his wrist before dropping to the floor. She could see the drool about to escape from the corner of his mouth.

"Sit up," she said, grasping his shoulders and pulling him upright.

His eyes opened slowly.

"Abby?" he looked at her, apparently surprised that she was still there, or there at all; she couldn't tell.

She kept a hand on his shoulder to make sure that he stayed sitting up while she turned and grabbed the now half empty glass from the table.

She held it out to him. This time he didn't resist. He lifted a hand to try to help her as she put the glass to his lips. It knocked more water down his front, but she helped him to wrap his hands around the glass anyway, leaving her hands hovering below it, ready to help if necessary.

She took it back from him as he pulled it away from his lips having taken a couple of mouthfuls and left it swaying dangerously in front of him.

"Can you finish it for me?"

He nodded. She gave him a minute, using a thumb to peel back the hair that was stuck to the side of his face and unsuccessfully trying to smooth it back with the rest. She left her hand there, to steady him, she told herself, as she brought the glass up again, keeping one hand on it as he clumsily drained it.

"OK?" He nodded slowly. "You're a mess, Carter." He just looked at her.

"I'm putting you to bed, ok? Arms up," she said, beginning to tug on the bottom of his sweatshirt. He obliged, and she pulled it up over his head, managing to negotiate the crooks of his elbows as he tried to straighten them for her. She left it on the floor, relieved to see that the T-shirt he wore underneath looked relatively clean. She reached for the buckle on his belt, but he batted her hands away, and she watched as he struggled with it himself.

Realising that this could take a while, she went to the bathroom and doused a flannel in cold water, splashing some on her face in an attempt to cool her eyes, which had been open far too long. When she returned she found Carter slumped forward on the couch, half asleep, his belt undone.

With the flannel she gently wiped away the accumulation of the last two days' dirt from his face, his scratchy stubble prickling her hand slightly.

"You think you can walk?" He nodded, and she left the flannel on the table behind her to help him up. She helped him to step out of his trousers, which had fallen about his ankles, and supported him as she walked him over to his bed, keeping hold of his arm as she pulled back the cover for him to get in.

She pulled it back over him and her hand briefly brushed his head as he settled down.

She got a glass of water and left it beside his bed, and he watched her as she started to tidy up, his eyelids quickly growing heavy and closing. She could hear him snoring slightly with the stuffyness that alcohol always seems to produce as she threw the remnants of his Chinese takeaway into the bin and began piling up the bottles in the corner of the room.

The next time she looked up she was surprised to see him standing unsteadily by his bed.

"Bathroom," he announced. She walked over to help him, but he pushed her away. "I'm not a five-year-old."

"You're drunk." He ignores her and continues his journey to the bathroom door, not bothering to close it when he finally reaches it.

She sighs and continues to pick up bottles from the floor, the pile in the corner of the room growing. She is surprised by the amount that he has drunk in the last two days, suspects that some of these bottles have been here longer.

She finds a blanket and a towel which rival the state of Carter's sweatshirt, and they join it in their heap on the floor.

She looks up and sees him making slow progress back towards his bed. She helps him into it once more, and turns away to survey the state of the room. It's still a mess, but she doesn't have the energy to deal with it right now, doesn't know where the cleaning stuff is kept in this house. Probably he doesn't either.

"What are you even doing here?"

Suddenly her sadness dissolves and she is angry. Angry that he's let himself get into this state, angry that he doesn't seem to appreciate her, angry that she has to work tomorrow, and can't stay to sort him out.

"I'm here because I care, Carter. Maybe it makes me a hypocrite. Maybe I should have stopped caring as soon as you ran off to Africa. Maybe it's wrong for me to care as much as I do. But I can't help it." He's asleep. She's trying to have an argument with him, and he's asleep.

She smiles faintly at her predicament. It's ok; he won't remember in the morning. Won't remember the kiss that falls onto his forehead, won't remember the fingers that linger over his hair, across his cheek, just a little longer than they're supposed to. Won't remember the tears that splash onto his face from above him as their owner watches him sleep.

....................

Please, please, please review!


	7. Therapy

AN: I'm afraid this chapter isn't particularly inspired (and is possibly even particularly uninspired). Mostly because I wouldn't let myself leave my computer until I'd written at least half of it, and in the end I had to start writing because I really needed to pee. And then I finished it because my mum sent me to my room to pack for uni. Guess I'm gonna be late.

And sorry for changing tenses halfway through the last chapter. I can't believe I didn't notice it, but it won't happen again, Brownies' honour.

DISCLAIMER: well, I just got off the phone to Wells, and he said that he'll think about allowing me to have Carter and Abby when he's done screwing them over. I'm just hoping that that means at the end of season twelve.

SUMMARY: ummm...it's the evening after the night before?

o-o-o-o-o.o-o-o-o-o

He found the note with some aspirin in the morning. Afternoon, actually.

'I had to go to work. Call me if you need anything. I'll come by later. Look after yourself, love Abby'

So she'd been here last night.

He turned over and went back to sleep.

o-o-o-o-o.o-o-o-o-o

He watched as the door opened quietly. It wasn't like he hadn't had any warning. She'd knocked; he'd ignored her.

"You should get up."

"What's the point?"

"Carter, don't."

She was standing leaning against the back of the chair by his bed, the same chair she'd held last night's vigil in. She looked at him reproachfully.

"I'm sorry, I guess having a dead son, brother, grandmother, absent girlfriend, drug addiction, and insomnia doesn't give me the right to a little self pity." He was being petty, and knew it.

"No, it doesn't. You need to sort yourself out. You're not even trying."

"I tried. I can't do it."

"Yes you can. If I can, you can."

"People don't keep dying on you."

"Carter, this isn't a competition. Stop making excuses for yourself. I know it must be really hard, but you've been worse than this, and you've pulled through before. And I know how it goes. You can't sleep, and you can't stop thinking about it, until you come round to thinking that maybe you'll just have a little bit, and it won't really matter. It'll just be this once. But then you still can't sleep, still can't stop thinking about it, and you've just screwed up anyway so you might as well have some more, just so you can sleep. And when you still can't sleep you might as well finish the bottle, otherwise it'll just be left out to tempt you the next day. And then the next day, you've already had one off day, so surely one more won't make that much difference. And you try to persuade yourself that it doesn't really matter, that it's not affecting anyone else. But you always know."

"You been preparing that all day?"

"Only since my lunch-break."

"Well, it's almost right. But you missed out the bit about the nightmares. And the liver damage."

"You've been having nightmares?"

"Abby, I'm sorry about last night. For getting myself...for being such a wreck. I'm sorry for wasting your evening."

"It's not like I had anything better to do."

"You're in the middle of your internship–"

"–exactly. Which means that helping out a friend counts as a justified break."

"And missing out on some well-deserved sleep."

"I wouldn't have been able to sleep knowing you were how you were anyway," she said, quietly.

He broke the silence which followed.

"They miss me at work?" he asked, smiling.

"Of course. And some woman came in looking for you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She had an ingrowing toenail, said you'd treated her last time. A Mrs Branagan, I think."

"Doesn't sound like I'm missing much."

"Luka kept on asking after you."

"I know. He called earlier."

"Yeah?"

"He's not good with answerphone messages."

"You didn't answer?"

"I had a headache...a hangover," he corrected himself.

"I didn't mean to, Abby....I mean, with the drinking...I couldn't sleep."

"You been to any meetings recently?"

"Not since— since the one I went to after gamma's funeral."

"I've been going to that new place in Clark Street. It's pretty good. There's a meeting at eight."

"We'll be late."

"They won't mind."

"Guess that means I have to get up then."

"Guess it does. I'll go make some coffee."

o-o-o-o-o.o-o-o-o-o

Carter had been vaguely surprised by the number of people who greeted Abby at the meeting. It hadn't seemed very anonymous.

He took both their coats and hung them together on the end of the banister. By the time he returned to the kitchen Abby was making the coffee.

"How long have you been going there?" he asked, sitting down and watching as she pulled two mugs from the cupboard above her.

"A month or so."

"They seem very..." he paused, hunting for the right word, "friendly," he finished.

"They are."

She took the milk from the fridge and a teaspoon from the draw. He stared hard at the table.

"Abby, I really did try, you know? For a while anyway. It's just– just the nightmares I can't take."

She poured the coffee and brought it to the table. She handed him his mug. Her hands were cold.

"Always with babies, babies that I can't reach, that I can't save. Mostly at County. And there's this one...one that I keep on having. And in it I kill him. I drop him. And every time, I know I'm going to do it, and every time I do it again. And there's concrete, and it...it's horrible."

He met her eyes as he finished. She didn't seem surprised.

"You know it's not your fault, right? It could have happened to anyone," she said, softly, knowing he'd been told this before, by others, confident in the futility of her offering.

"I know. I just can't help thinking that maybe if we'd been a bit more careful...if she hadn't taken those flights, hadn't done so much work....I know it wasn't anyone's fault, but sometimes...sometimes I just need a reason."

Her hand reached across the table and squeezed his. It wasn't as cold as last time, had been warmed by her coffee. She left it there, on his.

"And everywhere I look there are reminders. The worst are the kids. I swear there weren't this many kids before."

"Maybe you should take a proper break, get away from all this for a while." She didn't want him to go, hated worrying about him when she could see him, wasn't sure how she would cope with worrying about him when she couldn't see him.

"And go where? Africa?"

"What about your dad?" she asked, reluctantly.

"He's pretty busy."

"I'm sure he'd like to see you." Why was she doing this?

"I think I'd rather go back to work."

"If you're sure. Just no more moping about at home, ok? And next time you can't sleep, call me. I'm sure you'll be a welcome distraction from the anatomy of the kidney or whatever."

"Thanks Abby. For this."

"You'd do the same for me." Already had done, really.

"Still–"

"–Carter, it's fine. Honestly. Just think of it as bringing me closer to my sainthood or something," she said, trying to pass it off.

"Well, thank you. How's the internship going anyway?"

"Ok, I guess. It's tougher than I thought it would be. And it's weird, not being able to spend time with patients as much. I'm still not so hot on the book stuff, but Neela's trying to help me. Counts as her rent."

"She's living with you?"

"Well, she has the couch and one cupboard until she can find somewhere else."

"I could help you with some of the academic stuff, if you like. I know all the best mnemonics. Payment for my therapy."

"Thanks, I'd like that. I think I'm a little rusty from Richard's compulsory sabbatical. She smiled. "See, it's all his fault I failed my boards."

"You passed second time, though."

"Yes I did."

He looked down at their hands on the table, surprised. At some point his other hand had joined the two of theirs which were already linked together there.

"Abby, you should go. You must be exhausted."

"You're sure you're ok?"

"Sure."

"I am pretty whacked."

He stood up slightly abruptly, and took her coat from under his before escorting her to the door.

"I'll see you at work tomorrow then?"

"I'll be there." His smile looked a little forced. She reached up and wrapped him into a tight hug.

"You take care of your self 'til then," she said in a low voice as she felt his arms close around her shoulders.

"It's only seven hours. I expect I'll survive." She knew that he was smiling, knew also that his smile was pale and tired. She wished she could make all of this go away for him, wished she could somehow let him know how much she cared.

Instead she released him and walked towards her car, turning to wave just before she reached it. He was still standing in the doorway as her rear-lights disappeared around the corner.

o-o-o-o-o.o-o-o-o-o

She let herself in.

"You been out on the town with Dom again?" Neela asked.

Abby just smiled tiredly.

o-o-o-o-o.o-o-o-o-o

He still couldn't sleep, but this time it was for different reasons. When he finally drifted off, he was smiling.

He awoke at 4am sweating and screaming, with bloody images of small skulls and concrete fresh in his mind. He only had three and a half hours until he had to go to work. He made himself some coffee and turned on the TV, afraid to go back to sleep lest the nightmares should return.

o-o-o-o-o.o-o-o-o-o

AN: sorry if it seemed a little sparse. Can we pretend that it was a deliberate change of pace rather than me being stuck?

And please review! (otherwise you can't come to my party...)


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